Before leaving, Hu Nianzhi made a list for Xiao Tang: what time to get up, when to take breaks, how long to walk after meals, what to eat for three meals a day, how to balance nutrition, how to prevent asthma, how to take heart medication, the temperature of the bathwater, changing clothes every day, not to forget to charge the phone on time, when to unplug and plug in the landline, ensuring that it wouldn’t disturb his mother’s sleep but would still allow his calls to come through. Xiao Tang said, “Don’t worry, Teacher Hu, I remember Grandma’s schedule clearer than my birthday. You can go on your business trip with peace of mind.” Hu Nianzhi gave Xiao Tang three thousand yuan for emergencies before carrying his luggage and leaving.
His mother was sitting at the gate wearing a white shirt, with a wall covered in ivy behind her. Bai and green, with white hair, the frail mother made Hu Nianzhi feel like she was about to ascend to heaven. Every time he left, his mother would see him off at the door; when he returned, she often welcomed him at the alley entrance. But his mother never admitted she was waiting for him, claiming it was just a coincidence. Hu Nianzhi didn’t expose the truth either. After his mother broke her left femoral head, he had a custom-made stool with a crutch for her, made of fiberglass, very light. It could be used as a crutch and a stool when sitting down. His mother liked the stool and used it to welcome him and his sister at the door and in the alley.
“I’ll be back in a few days,” he said to his mother.
“Go ahead,” his mother waved her hand. The bones, veins, and age spots were all visible on her skinny hands. “Don’t worry. Xiao Tang is here.”
His mother had her first fall at seventy-nine, and Hu Nianzhi hired a caregiver. His mother didn’t like troubling others. After his father passed away, she had been living alone, insisting on taking care of herself inside and out. After breaking her left femoral head and getting a replacement, she needed rest, adaptation, and recovery training. Since there was no one around to help, his mother agreed to hire a caregiver. That’s when Xiao Tang came. Once her mobility improved, his mother wanted to live on her own again. She raised over a dozen chickens, went to the coop to collect eggs, got entangled in the chicken wire, and fell on the chicken feed trough. The ceramic feed trough didn’t break, but her right femoral bone snapped.
After the first fall, Hu Nianzhi advised his mother to reduce unnecessary activities, such as raising chickens. However, his mother insisted, feeling that she needed something to do; their home-raised free-range chickens produced nutritious small eggs, which were beneficial for her grandson who was studying and had a high mental consumption. After the second fall, they went to the hospital for another examination, revealing severe osteoporosis that made bone fusion impossible, necessitating another replacement. At the age of eighty-one, she underwent another surgery to replace her femoral head with an artificial one. With no hope of living independently, Xiao Tang stayed behind. It was another period of rest, adaptation, and recovery training until her mobility improved. Over a year had passed when his eighty-three-year-old mother finally resigned herself to the idea of not living alone.
After his father’s death, Hu Nianzhi wanted his mother to move to Tianqiao Bay. The house there was spacious enough, and the neighborhood environment was pleasant. His mother had grown accustomed to living by the canal, so there shouldn’t have been any problem, and Tianqiao Bay was right by the Tonghui River, making it even more convenient. However, his mother refused and chose to stay in their bungalow in Zhangjiawan instead.
The bungalow was nice, with a large courtyard where her flowers, grown over decades, flourished along the walls. After nearly fifty years, Hu Nianzhi knew his mother too well. She was always docile and quiet, hardly speaking a few words a day. Trying to impose any changes was futile. Since his mother wouldn’t change, he had to. Fortunately, Tianqiao Bay wasn’t far from there, just a quick drive away, and visiting seven times a week didn’t take much time. Sometimes, if he wasn’t traveling, he would simply stay in Zhangjiawan.
He still slept in his room. The house had been renovated before his father’s death. Rebuilding the house where it stood wasn’t a big deal considering the financial strength of Hu Nianzhi and his sister. But for Hu Jingye, one of the earliest female IT pioneers in Zhongguancun who had started her own company, her exact wealth was beyond the comprehension of her archaeologist brother. Hu Jingye asked her father, “How tall and big should it be?” His father replied, “Listen to your mother.” Hu Jingye muttered, “Listen to Mom again. Can’t you listen to yourself just once in your life?” His father chuckled and said, “Life isn’t a battlefield where one must fight to the death.” The three of them watched Ma Siyi. Ma Siyi said, “Rebuild it on the same spot, or keep it as a bungalow.”
In this household, the Mother, Ma Siyi, typically speaks in conclusive terms. She isn’t domineering, nor is it because she’s taciturn; it’s because she’s opinionated and possesses the courage and fearlessness to stand by her convictions. Her fearlessness is also silent, never manifesting in gnashing of teeth or clamorous antics. She simply accepts with a lowered gaze and bowed head, yet undertakes with an air of compromise and evasion. If you decipher this posture, it holds a stirring power.
Hu Jing, however, dislikes this aspect of her mother, especially when it interferes with everyday decisions. For instance, after Father’s passing, Mother suddenly remarked that there was a mistake in his household registration, his name was mistakenly written as “Yi” instead of “Yi.” She wanted to rectify it. Hu Jing thought, after so many years of error, why bother correcting it now? It doesn’t affect daily life. Mother insisted on the change. Hu Jing couldn’t understand; after all, a name is just an identifier, was it worth the trouble?
During the Mid-Autumn Festival, the siblings and their families gathered at Mother’s for a reunion dinner, and the topic resurfaced. Hu Jing became even more upset. When young people fuss over such matters, one can begrudgingly comprehend, but when someone in their seventies brings it up again, it’s not just fuss, it’s affectation. Hu Jing put down her utensils and stood up, saying:
“Mom, I’m swamped. If you want it changed, let your son handle it.”
She emphasized “your son” under her breath. Hu Nianzhi noticed a slight change in Mother’s expression, which quickly returned to normal. Mother replied, “You mind your own business; I’ll handle it myself.”
Hu Nianzhi offered, “Mom, I’m off on Tuesday; I’ll go for you.”
Only Hu Nianzhi and Mother could discern the undertones in Hu Jing’s words at the dinner table. Over the years, whenever Hu Jing felt the need to voice grievances about their father or vent frustrations about their Mother, she automatically referred to her Mother as “your mother” in front of her brother, and called her brother “your son” in Mother’s presence.
“Isn’t she your mom?” Hu Nianzhi used to retort to his sister when they were younger.
“Yeah,” Hu Jing would reply, “but I also have a dad.”
Hu Nianzhi fell silent. For many years, this had been Hu Nianzhi’s scar, the source of his insecurity. His interest in the present diminished, fearing to face what was in front of him. So he retreated into the past; those ancient, distant things brought him greater relaxation. Those people and things had nothing to do with him, so they couldn’t hurt him; he didn’t need to feel guilty or inferior. Since childhood, Hu Nianzhi has been a top student. His scores on the college entrance exam were good enough to get into any liberal arts program at Peking University, yet he chose the most obscure field: archaeology. When he received the acceptance letter, he breathed a sigh of relief, tears streaming down his face. His safety for the latter half of his life was secured.
There had always been people gossiping behind his back, saying he wasn’t his father’s son; almost the entire village of Zhangjiawan knew. He felt that as soon as others laid eyes on him, their gaze would shift, flickering with ambiguous light. Even his name. His father wasn’t well-educated, so both his and his sister’s names were chosen by their mother. “Nianzhi” sounded like it was pointing to someone specific: who was he supposed to remember?
Certainly, someone who wasn’t around. It was said that because of this, his parents almost divorced. From the bits and pieces of information he gathered over the years, he pieced together the story: when his mother was thirty-four, she met a hydraulics expert and became pregnant with him. That expert just slept over for a few nights, finished his business, and then disappeared. When he was born, everyone noticed he didn’t look like Ma Siyi or Hu Wenyu, but there was a hint of that hydraulics expert who had stayed in the town last year. Rumors started flying.
In 1963, the Hai River experienced a massive flood, unprecedented in its scale, inundating much of Tianjin. Chairman Mao issued a call to “definitely cure the Hai River.” Twenty years later, when Hu Nianzhi was studying, he and his classmates conducted surveys along the North Canal, heading southward to the mouth of the Hai River. Along the way, they encountered this slogan no less than twenty times, indicating the magnitude of the event back then. Curing the Hai River wasn’t just about addressing the river itself; it also meant solving the issues with the Southern Canal in Tianjin and the Northern Canal leading to Tongzhou, because the two canals intersected with the Hai River, sharing its fate. From that time on, experts came to inspect the North Canal regularly.
In May 1964, as the weather started to heat up and comets frequently streaked across the night sky, two hydraulic experts arrived. Back then, experts weren’t like they are now, staying in the best hotels. For the sake of convenience, they kept it simple, lodging temporarily with local families. Since the Hu family had extra rooms, an elderly gentleman was assigned to stay there, with Ma Siyi taking care of his room and board expenses.
The other younger expert stayed with a family in the front row. This family consisted of two elderly individuals, accustomed to having two meals a day. The young expert couldn’t bear it, so he came over to the Hu family to join the elderly expert for meals and continued discussing hydraulic projects after eating. Sometimes when the weather was bad or they didn’t go out for field inspections, the young man would also visit the elderly gentleman’s room, and the two would spend half a day or even a whole day chatting over a pot of tea. That’s how things were.
During that time, Hu Wenyu was on a business trip. He was purchasing bamboo for the bamboo ware factory and took colleagues to Pingxiang to buy bamboo. This journey to Jiangxi was long and transporting bamboo took even longer, so he was away from home for over a month. That’s how things were. When Hu Wenyu returned, the experts had already left, leaving behind a considerable sum for their accommodations and meals. The following year, Hu Nianzhi was born, and suddenly everyone seemed to snap out of it as if something had gone wrong somewhere. They remembered that the young expert was only around thirty-something. That’s how things were.
The neighbors took a liking to Hu Nianzhi’s appearance, partly due to Ma Siyi. Ma Siyi didn’t look quite like a Han Chinese; some said she looked like someone from the northwest or even a foreigner, and everyone believed it. Another reason was Hu Jing; her daughter resembled Ma Siyi, and nobody had any objections, including Hu Wenyu. Hu Jing became the reference point: a son could resemble his mother instead of his father. The problem was that Hu Nianzhi didn’t resemble either his father or his mother.
Privately, people compared and found that neither side of the Hu and Ma families had any resemblance. If this alone wasn’t a big deal, of course, it could be overlooked, but what was troublesome was that when people looked closely, they saw a familiar expression on young Hu Nianzhi’s face. This year was too close to last year; the neighbors hadn’t forgotten the appearance of that young hydraulic expert yet. Appearance often worked like this: the more you mentioned a resemblance, the more it seemed true, no matter how you looked at it. And Ma Siyi was practically reminding everyone with blazing clarity, “Nianzhi, who are you supposed to remember?”
The rumors reached Hu Wenyu’s ears; he was an honest man. Hu Wenyu had known Ma Siyi since he was twelve when they were neighbors in Manzi Camp. As he watched Ma Siyi grow up, he matured into a burly man. Old Hu had a good personality, especially towards Ma Siyi. Old Hu’s full name was chosen by Ma Siyi’s grandfather, and his nickname was Er Dan.
When Ma Siyi was three years old, Japanese invaders breached the Shanhai Pass and attacked Tongzhou, where they set dogs on Ma Siyi’s grandmother, killing her. Her grandfather couldn’t tolerate it. Ma Fude’s devotion to his wife became a legend and a tale of affection, still circulating in Manzi Camp. He sought revenge for his wife.
Sneaking into the Japanese invaders’ base alone at night, he single-handedly killed over a dozen Japanese soldiers, tearing the vicious dog into two pieces. If not for one Japanese soldier eating too much good food and getting diarrhea, not a single one would have survived that night. The Japanese soldier shot Ma Fude in the back.
When the young masters of Manzi Camp went to collect the bodies, Ma Fude’s eyes were still wide open. He was a true man. Since then, the men of Manzi Camp had been taught by their families to learn from Ma Fude: to treat their wives well, even at the risk of their lives. Er Dan remembered this teaching, and later he married Ma Fude’s granddaughter.
After Ma Fude destroyed the Japanese invaders’ base, life for the Ma family had been difficult. The Japanese troops kept changing, but the hatred persisted. Many years before they surrendered, the Japanese kept coming back to Manzi Camp, harassing, raiding, and spreading fear. Each time they came, they targeted the Ma family with particular brutality.
Ma Fude’s son inherited his father’s ferry business. One day, he was killed by passing Japanese soldiers because the river crossing was too slow. With their main provider gone and the uncertain life they faced, Ma Fude’s daughter-in-law decided to flee with the entire family before another major raid. Ma Siyi was sick at the time and couldn’t walk, so she was temporarily left with Aunt Hui’s family until they could settle elsewhere and return for her.
Ma’s mother sent the most valuable possession, the woodblock print of “Dragon King Bringing Rain,” along with her daughter, to Aunt Hui’s home to assure them they would come back for Ma Siyi. Aunt Hui had no granddaughter of her own, so she treated Ma Siyi like one. After the Ma family fled, they were never heard from again. It’s unclear whether they didn’t settle well elsewhere or met with an accident on the road.
With chaos and disorder everywhere, unexpected events were common, even for those who stayed put, often facing annihilation by the invaders. Anyway, Ma Siyi stayed with the Ge family. To ensure her safety, the Ge family eventually moved to Zhangjiawan. Later on, when Ma Siyi came of age, she married Ge Er Dan. Ge Er Dan could attest that Ma Siyi’s original name was indeed Ma Siyi.
When there was a problem with their son’s appearance, everyone looked to see how Hu Wenyu would react. Old Hu remained silent, drinking bottle after bottle of liquor in solitude, falling off his bicycle on the way to and from work twice, once with a black eye and once dislocating his left arm. He spent days at home hardly saying a word, this state lasting for a month and a half. Ma Siyi couldn’t bear it anymore. She approached him holding young Nianzhi and said:
“If you believe he’s your son, then he is; if you don’t, we’ll divorce, and I’ll take him with me.”
Old Hu swung the half-empty bottle towards the dining table, holding onto the remaining half tightly. He stabbed the jagged edge of the bottle at his right thigh, tears streaming down his face as he said, “I believe.”
Ma Siyi placed the child in the cradle and tended to Hu Wenyu’s wound. Then she asked, “Do you believe?”
Hu Wenyu remained silent again.
Ma Siyi picked up the blood-stained half bottle and, before Hu Wenyu could react, pierced it into her thigh. Not a tear fell from her eyes. She said, “Actually, you don’t believe me.”
Hu Wenyu embraced Ma Siyi, crying and shouting, “I believe, I truly believe! From now on, every minute, every second, I believe! I believe from the bottom of my heart!”
“Alright, the baby is crying, go and soothe him,” Ma Siyi said. She tore open her pants and used the torn fabric to dress her wound.
Such details were naturally not divulged by the parents. When Hu Nianzhi asked his parents why there was a round scar on their thighs, his father said it was from falling while walking, and his mother said it was from touching the hot coal stove door. Unable to bear the whispers and pointed fingers when he was young, Hu Nianzhi asked his father at home if he was his biological father. Hu Wenyu replied firmly and naturally, “Of course, how else would you have the surname Hu?” Hu Nianzhi stood up straight; once he stepped out of the house, two people whispered behind him, and he lowered his head again.
Such matters were not suitable to ask his mother about. When Nianzhi was in his sophomore year of high school, he mustered up a week’s worth of courage to subtly talk to his mother about the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal and the imperative to “definitely cure the Hai River.” He mentioned he might become a hydraulic expert and travel south along the North Canal to see the whole of China. His mother listened quietly and then said, “Your great-grandfather, great-grandmother, and your grandfather are all buried on the riverbank. We don’t know where the floodwaters took them. Your grandmother and two uncles fled along the canal and died too. My life is tied to this canal.” After that, Hu Nianzhi never mentioned the matter again in front of his mother.
Mother was quietly resolute, never one to be vehement in Hu Nianzhi’s impression. She was accustomed to saying, “I’ll wait for you outside.” Whenever the family went out together, Mother was always the first one ready. She efficiently sorted everything out, saying, “I’ll wait for you outside,” then stepping outside to wait by the door.
No matter how long you took, she remained composed. Before the college entrance exam, when each student was asked to describe the most memorable impression of their family members, the first thing that came to Hu Nianzhi’s mind when he thought of his mother was her saying, “I’ll wait for you outside,” while already heading out of the yard.
Mother worked as a saleswoman and accountant at a large store in Zhangjiawan. When Hu Nianzhi went to school in the morning, she also needed to go to work. They walked together down Lantern Alley. She said to her son, “Pack your school bag. I’ll wait for you outside.”
As she grew older, Mother went out less, and her saying, “I’ll wait for you outside,” became less frequent too. But when someone else left the house, she would still wait by the door first. Just like now, when he was about to go on a business trip, Mother was already sitting at the door. Hu Nianzhi put his luggage in the trunk of the car and waved to his mother after getting in. When he reached the end of the alley and turned, he stopped to adjust the rearview mirror. Mother sat in the middle of the mirror, her hand resting on the cane linked to the crutch, looking both like she was waving and bidding farewell.
Hu Nianzhi went to Jining. In the old canal route, they discovered a sunken ship from the Qing Dynasty. Based on the current excavation conditions and the objects they had cleaned, it was very similar to the archaeological excavation along the North Canal twenty years ago. During that sunken ship excavation, Hu Nianzhi was one of the participating experts. His scientific deductions regarding the excavation scope, precise dating of the sunken ship, and valuation of three important porcelain artifacts impressed the senior experts in the team, who praised him and said there were successors, proving his talent was not alone. He was not yet thirty years old at that time and gained fame with one success. This time, with the sunken ship excavation in the Jining Canal, those involved naturally thought of Hu Nianzhi and invited him to be the chief expert.
The discovery of this sunken ship was purely accidental. On the abandoned canal route, which had been deserted for over a hundred years, tall buildings had been erected, covered in vegetation, resembling any other lively piece of land. No one even knew that the canal had once passed through this area; there were no records of it in history books. Due to natural disasters and human calamities, the Jining section of the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal changed its course several times. According to relevant data, most of the old routes could be accurately identified, and they could be scientifically reconstructed on paper at least. However, this particular location had never been marked.
It all started with a fake antique—a replica of a Xuande furnace. Both the archaeological and collecting circles understood that there were no genuine Ming Dynasty Xuande furnaces circulating in the world. The existence of Xuande furnaces was even questioned. However, in the folk, various styles and materials of Xuande furnaces emerged endlessly. One day, in a place near Jining, about one kilometer away from the canal, a six-story residential building had just laid its foundation. This was the first building of the planned Tianxin Garden community.
Across from the construction site were several other recently developed communities and a large area of bungalows, where the nearby farmers who had not yet been relocated lived. At dusk, a person sat on the roadside curb, looking like a construction worker. His pants were rolled up on both legs, one high and one low, revealing his muddy bare ankles. He wore a pair of worn-out Liberation shoes that had been stepped on mud and concrete.
In front of him lay a crumpled newspaper with a small copper incense burner on it. The burner had three legs and double hanging ears, covered in patches of copper rust, with mud still stuck on it that hadn’t been cleaned. Someone passing by stopped out of curiosity. Then another person stopped. A third person stopped. It was time to get off work, and within the time it took to smoke a cigarette, a large crowd had gathered.
The construction worker remained silent. He had already explained to the first person that he was working on the construction site behind him, and this thing was dug up when they were laying the foundation. He didn’t understand what it was, but he thought it looked nice, and he wanted to see if he could get a few packs of cigarettes for it. The first and second spectators explained this to the later arrivals. Someone picked up the incense burner and examined it closely, noticing six characters on the bottom: “Made during the Xuande reign of the Ming Dynasty.” A semi-cultured person exclaimed, “Wow, the legendary Xuande furnace!”
Some people knew about the Xuande furnace, while many others had never heard of it. However, the excitement of seeing something legendary and the shock of those fortunate enough to witness a national treasure was enough to make everyone’s heart race, wishing they could grab it for themselves immediately. Bidding started at one thousand yuan. The seller muttered that he didn’t care; he had found it for free and just wanted enough money for a few smokes. Bidding ensued, with bids going up by fifty or a hundred each time. Eventually, a middle-aged man successfully bid sixteen hundred yuan. As he paid, his hands trembled uncontrollably.
Three days later, the middle-aged man showed up with the Xuande furnace, accompanied by his brothers-in-law, as they intended to confront the seller. Someone knowledgeable explained to him that the legendary Xuande furnace was not just made of copper; it also incorporated precious materials like gold and silver in the smelting process, resulting in a dark purple or black-brown color.
While ordinary furnaces required four smeltings, the Xuande furnace required twelve, resulting in a purer and smoother texture, akin to baby skin. When heated over a fire, the Xuande furnace displayed brilliant and varied colors; even if covered in mud, wiping it off would restore it to its original appearance. The middle-aged man washed off the mud and realized that underneath, it was just copper, with a surface that looked at least a hundred years old. He understood that he had been deceived. In his quest to find the construction worker, this man’s hair had turned half-white from the stress.
The construction worker didn’t even move his spot; he was still selling. This time, it was a copper kettle, with mud clogging up the spout. Three men pushed through the crowd, approached him, and started beating him up, shouting, “You scammer!” The construction worker was beaten so badly that he stuttered and begged for help, asking the onlookers to call the police. It took some effort to pull the three men off him. The construction worker tearfully protested his innocence, saying he was indeed a construction worker, and these two items were indeed dug up by him. He genuinely didn’t know what the Xuande furnace was. He insisted that if someone wanted to buy, and he wanted to sell, he couldn’t be considered a scammer.
The middle-aged man asked, “If you’re not a scammer, then tell us where you dug these things up.” The construction worker pointed to a nearby depression, overgrown with weeds and reeds. It had always been a large water-filled depression; when it rained heavily, the water accumulated more, and when it rained less, the water level dropped.
As long as it didn’t dry up completely, the mud would crack open, and there would still be some loaches. The construction worker had a liking for catching loaches, so when he wasn’t working, he’d sneak off with a shovel to dig. He caught quite a few loaches, and incidentally, dug up a few things. First, it was a small thing that looked like a bowl or a plate. He didn’t think much of it, so he cleaned it and used it as an ashtray in the construction shed. Then, he dug up the Xuande furnace, followed by this copper kettle. That’s all he knew. He lamented the injustice.
The outcome of this incident was that the construction worker was beaten up, and the sixteen hundred yuan was returned to him. The Xuande furnace was sold to a young man for three hundred yuan. He wasn’t into collecting; he just thought it looked interesting and fun. But there was another consequence:
That evening, several nearby farmers came with flashlights to dig in the depression; by the next day, even more people had arrived. On the third day, there were more people in the depression than weeds and reeds. Even the city dwellers living in the building couldn’t resist joining in. The digging operation continued to expand, both in terms of area and depth. With unwavering confidence, they thought, “What if we find something? Even if we don’t find treasure, we’ll at least get a good workout.”
Bits and pieces of oddities were unearthed by various people. Then, someone dug out a ship. The ship was quite a distance from the marshy area. It was a sizable vessel, and as soon as they uncovered its outline, they dared not proceed further, promptly reporting to the local authorities. After a preliminary assessment by the local Bureau of Culture, Radio, Television, and Tourism, they sought further guidance from the provincial Cultural Relics Bureau, leading to the formation of an archaeological excavation team. They unearthed many porcelain pieces and other small items near the sunken ship. Although most of the porcelain was fragmented, they still managed to recover over a hundred intact pieces. This was no small discovery. However, there arose difficulties and disagreements regarding the location, age, identity, and cause of the shipwreck, as well as the determination of the types of porcelain and their firing dates.
An expert from the provincial Cultural Relics Bureau thought of Hu Nianzhi. Hu Nianzhi had gained fame for his archaeological excavation of the Northern Canal shipwreck and happened to be a classmate of theirs from Peking University.
The excavation site was encircled by a large perimeter, with only one entrance and exit. Two special police officers stood guard, along with four security personnel, and all equipment brought onto the site had to pass through security checks. Cameras were also installed at elevated positions. Hu Nianzhi carried his luggage straight to the office location and was startled by the setup. An old classmate informed him that they had discovered a well-preserved porcelain piece with a poem inscribed by Emperor Qianlong, suspected to be Ru ware.
Hu Nianzhi took a sharp breath; if this were indeed authentic, its value would be inestimable, and heightened security would be warranted. According to the latest statistics, there were a total of eighty-three known surviving pieces of Ru ware: the National Palace Museum in Taipei had the most, with twenty-one pieces; followed by the Palace Museum in Beijing, with eighteen pieces; then the British Museum, with sixteen pieces; followed by the Shanghai Museum, with eight pieces; and both the Tianjin Museum and the National Museum had two pieces each, with the remainder scattered among various museums or held by individuals, each possessing just one piece.
Since the Song Dynasty, the art of making Ru ware had been lost for over eight hundred years, making surviving Ru ware all the more precious. It was said that even if one had boundless wealth, it was not as valuable as a piece of Ru ware. Hu Nianzhi wanted to first appreciate the Ru ware inscribed with imperial poems, but his old classmate said it had already been placed in a secure location for assessment later; for now, they needed to go to the site.
The wooden boat, submerged in water for an unknown duration and now buried in mud, had long since deteriorated. Its shape was quite disordered. The size of the vessel fell between that of a typical canal boat and a merchant ship, and in terms of structure, it did not resemble a canal boat. Various types of wood were used for its components, including cedar, pine, elm, locust, pine, and camphor. Within the current excavation area, the discovered parts were sufficient to piece together most of the hull.
A makeshift canopy had been erected on a temporary platform beside Pit One to provide shelter from wind and rain, within which the assembled outline of the ship was placed. This vessel was undoubtedly remarkable in its time. Once the mud was cleared from the hull, the sturdy and dignified wooden structure became apparent. However, the plank bearing the usual markings or inscriptions that might identify the ship’s origin had not yet been found.
In Pit Two, several archaeologists were diligently working, delicately clearing away mud and sand with hand shovels and brushes. This pit yielded the most porcelain artifacts, so the workers were particularly cautious to avoid damaging the relics with overly vigorous movements. Inside a large wooden crate at the pit’s edge were neatly arranged and numbered excavated porcelain pieces. Despite being covered in sediment, some of the celadon pieces from Ge ware, Jun ware, and Longquan ware were easily recognizable. A classmate mentioned that a local porcelain expert was present and had preliminarily identified several pieces as Song dynasty ceramics, with Ming and Qing dynasty pieces being predominant.
There were also a few areas not specifically designated as pits, not quite reaching the status of numbered pits but merely a slight distance away from Pits One and Two. During excavation, a few more shovels of soil were taken from these areas, often merging them with adjacent pits. The distribution of the entire excavation site formed a narrow strip approximately twenty-five meters wide, undoubtedly indicating that this place was once a river channel. However, Hu Nianzhi couldn’t recall any documentation mentioning the Grand Canal diverting to this location at any point. Accompanied by his old classmate, he circled the entire excavation site three times, discussing the excavation process in detail and addressing some of his queries. After completing the rounds, the car to take him back to the hotel arrived, but Hu Nianzhi suggested they take a look around the periphery first.
Leaving the excavation site, the two got into the car, instructing the driver to take a brief tour of the vicinity. Along both sides of the ancient riverbed, freshly turned soil was visible at short intervals, the surface already bleached and dried by the sun.
“Is this your doing?”
“We couldn’t possibly do such rough work,” chuckled his old classmate. “The locals just wanted to join in the fun. Before the official excavation began, it was explicitly forbidden to dig without authorization, but those areas weren’t within our designated scope. Some were private plots, and others were just wild fields. They wouldn’t dig during the day but would sneak out at night with flashlights to dig secretly. It’s all just for amusement; there aren’t that many treasures.”
The next day, Hu Nianzhi examined the suspected Ru ware with Emperor Qianlong’s inscription at the local police station. It was indeed the safest place, with two theft-proof doors, double cameras, and a password-protected safe. He approached the safe, entered the code, put on gloves, and carefully lifted out the porcelain piece. It was a powder-blue tripod washer, with an inscription of a poem by Emperor Qianlong engraved around the base: “The Zhaozhou kiln in Qingzhou builds the Ru kiln, It’s rumored that the agate is used at the end of the glaze. But now Jingdezhen has lost this method, Yet it emerges in lapis lazuli hue.” The inscription reads: “Imperial Inscription by Emperor Qianlong of the Jihai Year.” The seal imprint reads: “Bide, Langrun.”
Ru ware often exhibits a powder-blue color, known as “stopping water mirror sky color, where the sky enters the water, and emerald green interweaves.” This type of vessel is commonly found among Ru ware. The “Qing Palace Work Records” recorded that on April 27th, 1729, eunuchs Liu Xiwen and Wang Taiping submitted a lacquer box and twenty-nine pieces of Ru kiln ware (actually thirty-one pieces), with the first item being a tripod round washer.
Emperor Qianlong had a penchant for both fine ceramics and poetry. He was diligent in his writing throughout his life, composing over forty-two thousand poems, almost matching the entire collection of “Complete Tang Poems.” Whenever he encountered a porcelain piece he liked, he couldn’t resist composing a poem and then having the artisans from the Imperial Workshops engrave it onto the porcelain. Mr. Fan Xianming’s book “Collection and Explanation of Ancient Chinese Ceramic Literature” (Volume I) includes one hundred and eighty-three poems inscribed by Emperor Qianlong on porcelain pieces from sixteen famous kilns, with fifteen of them inscribed on Ru ware.
Among the twenty-one pieces of Ru ware collected by the National Palace Museum in Taipei, thirteen have Qianlong’s inscriptions on the base. Regarding inscriptions on Ru ware, Qianlong was indeed a “habitual offender.” He had a special fondness for Ru ware, and every piece he admired was particularly cherished. This sentiment is understandable; even in the Song Dynasty, Ru ware was highly sought after by the royal family, literati, and aficionados of fine ceramics. As the foremost of the Five Great Kilns of the Song Dynasty—”Ru, Guan, Ge, Jun, and Ding”—Ru kiln’s porcelain body was delicate, its shape well-proportioned, and its glaze exhibited a pure sky-blue color.
The glaze surface displayed crackles, fine and dense, resembling fish scales or ice cracks, exuding an incomparable beauty. It’s said that since the Song Dynasty when Ru ware was first produced, the theft rate has been extremely high because it’s just too beautiful. Everyone who sees it wants to take it home. Even the emperor was no exception. Once he took a liking to it, he would compose a poem, inscribe his name, indicating that it was already his possession, and then have it packed up and sent to the palace.
The problem was that Hu Nianzhi found the poem by Emperor Qianlong and the two seal imprints strangely familiar. He rummaged through his bag for reference materials and found confirmation. The British Museum indeed possessed sixteen pieces of Ru ware, two of which were inscribed with poems by Emperor Qianlong.
One of them, a gray-blue washer, bore the same poem engraved around the base, with identical markings. Moreover, the two seal imprints on the bottom of the powder-blue tripod washer matched those found on another imperial-inscribed item in the museum’s collection, a sky-blue glazed bowl, with the inscriptions “Bide” and “Langrun,” remarkably similar.
Hu Nianzhi compared the imprints on the bowl’s bottom with those on the base of the tripod washer using a magnifying glass and could barely discern any differences. At least with the naked eye, he dared not hastily conclude whether the two seal imprints were from the same source.
It wasn’t unheard of for the same poem to be inscribed on two different porcelain pieces—Emperor Qianlong had done it before. For example, a powder-blue round washer in the National Palace Museum in Taipei bore the same poem as the tripod washer, but with a different date inscription, “Imperial Inscription by Emperor Qianlong in the spring of the Bingshen year,” with a slightly different seal imprint, only one imprint, “Langrun.”
There were now two issues to address: first, whether the imperial inscription was authentic, and second, whether the tripod washer was indeed from the Ru kiln. If the imperial inscription proved genuine, it would imply that Emperor Qianlong had identified the piece as Northern Song Ru ware. However, whether it was genuinely Northern Song Ru ware or not, the emperor’s opinion was not conclusive; Emperor Qianlong himself often made misjudgments.
Historical records indicate that he once mistook a Jun kiln sky-blue glazed purple-spotted pillow and a Ru ware made during the Yongzheng era as Northern Song Ru kiln porcelain, and he also mistakenly attributed Ru kiln porcelain as Jun kiln ware and inscribed poems on them. Another possibility existed: the porcelain could be authentic, but the imperial inscription might be forged.
Nevertheless, even if that were the case, Northern Song Ru ware was already highly valued; the imperial inscription would merely add to its prestige. There was also a third possibility: both the porcelain and the imperial inscription were fake.
After consulting with the team leader and the supervising authority, Hu Nianzhi and the local expert began the process of identifying the unearthed porcelain. The vast majority were easily distinguished—Ge ware, Ding ware, Yaozhou ware, Cizhou ware, Longquan ware, and so on—each identified and differentiated with consensus between the two.
However, a few pieces still posed challenges. One was a suspected Southern Song gray-blue glazed plum blossom cup, another was a Jun kiln sky-blue glazed bowl-shaped incense burner, and the third was a suspected Jun kiln sky-blue glazed folded-edge plate. Assessing based on factors such as the specifications of the porcelain, the evolution of techniques, and the aesthetic characteristics of the era wasn’t overly difficult, but occasional overlapping factors and lack of concrete evidence made Hu Nianzhi inclined to wait for further evidence.
With the excavation still ongoing, there was a chance that the next artifact discovered could provide satisfactory explanations for all uncertainties. The biggest question mark remained over the tripod washer with Emperor Qianlong’s inscription.
They scanned the inscriptions and seal imprints and compared them to similar items in the collections of the British Museum and the National Palace Museum in Taipei. Considering factors such as margins of error, the final data indicated that the inscriptions and seal imprints were authentic. This artifact was indeed linked to Emperor Qianlong. However, doubts persisted about the porcelain itself. Hu Nianzhi leaned toward it being a later imitation of Ru ware. If this conclusion held, it would add another case to the history of Emperor Qianlong’s misjudgments. Despite consulting several experts separately, they couldn’t reach a consensus.
Hu Nianzhi thought of an elderly gentleman currently residing in Ruzhou, who was not only a longstanding practitioner in the art of firing Ru ware but also an expert dedicated to researching Ru kiln sky-blue glaze and exploring ancient Ru kiln sites. The opinion of this gentleman would carry significant weight. Hu Nianzhi contacted the gentleman, transmitting relevant materials and their opinions in detail via the Internet for his consideration.
While awaiting the conclusion from the elderly gentleman and during breaks in other research activities, Hu Nianzhi, like other team members, persisted in daily fieldwork. He enjoyed the tactile sensation of handling soil and artifacts with his shovel and brush. For him, a relic in the process of excavation was not the same as one unearthed; that sense of presence was crucial for his understanding and contemplation of artifacts. He needed an immersive “stage” to delve into history.
As more and more artifacts, predominantly porcelain, were unearthed, a discovery on a copper block resembling a town measure caught their attention. It bore the inscription “Twelfth Year of Jiaqing,” indicating the year 1807 in the Qing dynasty. This meant that the ship likely sank as early as 1807. Hu Nianzhi consulted local records and relevant historical materials but found no record of any major shipwrecks in the canal during that year.
Considering the value of the porcelain unearthed thus far, this ship was certainly not an ordinary merchant vessel, so its sinking should have been a significant event. Why, then, was there no trace of it in historical records? During his time in Jining, Hu Nianzhi also examined records of the canal’s rerouting history and the historical chronicles of the Jining section of the canal but found no evidence of the canal being rerouted to this location during that time.
Did the ship travel along one of the canal’s tributaries? Historical records showed several major floods in the area during those years; did one of these floods create a new waterway? If this hypothesis held, why didn’t the ship follow the main waterway? Was it heading north or south? Based on the ship’s position and the arrangement of the excavated ship components, it seemed to be heading north. However, accidents could happen, and a sinking ship might change direction. Of course, there was another major question: why did it sink?
From the moment he woke up until he went to sleep, Hu Nianzhi’s mind was consumed by these questions. Sometimes, they even invaded his dreams, where he would question and answer himself, one version of him in the present and another living in the Qing dynasty during the time of the sunken ship.
After lunch, Hu Nianzhi was crouching at the excavation site, sweating profusely in his work clothes as he cleaned a coarse pottery bowl. His phone rang, and it was Xiao Tang calling. Three days ago, the elderly lady had gone out and slipped on the steps in front of the courtyard gate, fracturing her right ankle bone for the third time. They hadn’t mentioned it over the phone in the past few days—it was at the elderly lady’s insistence not to disrupt Hu Nianzhi’s work. Now, Xiao Tang was calling behind the elderly lady’s back because she refused treatment and had removed the splint and bandages from her foot. Xiao Tang didn’t know what to do and had to seek help.
“Where’s my sister?”
“Aunt took grandma to get an X-ray. After arranging for hospitalization and treatment, she left.”
“Where are you and my mom now?”
“At the hospital.”
“Tell grandma to lie down and not move, she must rest. I’m coming back now.”
Hu Nianzhi explained the situation to his old classmate, packed his belongings at the hotel, and then rushed to the Qufu High-speed Railway Station by car. He arrived at Beijing South Station after two and a half hours, transferred to the subway to Tongzhou, got off the subway, and took a taxi to the hospital, arriving at 9:15 PM.
His mother was lying quietly on the hospital bed with her eyes closed. Seeing Hu Nianzhi, Xiao Tang couldn’t hold back her tears, and doctors and nurses took turns trying to persuade the elderly lady, who refused to immobilize her right foot. When his mother heard her son’s voice, she opened her eyes, turned her head, smiled at Hu Nianzhi, and said:
“Look, I’m still affecting your work.”
“Mom,” Hu Nianzhi sat beside the bed and held his mother’s hand, “we have to listen to the doctor.”
“I also have to listen to myself.” His mother moved the handheld by Hu Nianzhi, “It’s okay, I’ll just lie here and not move. Look, I’m doing fine. You can go back tomorrow.”
Hu Nianzhi found the attending doctor to inquire about his mother’s current condition. The doctor reassured him that there were no major issues, as long as she was properly immobilized and allowed to rest. However, he cautioned that the healing process for elderly bones might be slower and required patience. If her condition remained as it was, without proper immobilization, it would never heal completely. Sometimes, involuntary movements couldn’t be entirely controlled by willpower; a sudden movement could undo any progress made.
“What if she refuses to be immobilized?” Hu Nianzhi asked.
“If she stays immobile? An elderly person bedridden for two months would develop all sorts of problems. It’s like slow suicide,” the doctor replied.
Thanking the doctor, Hu Nianzhi returned to the ward, where his mother had already fallen asleep. He sent Xiao Tang home and decided to stay the night himself. Xiao Tang had been keeping vigil by the bedside for days, her eyes bloodshot. She needed a good night’s sleep.
“What if grandma needs to use the restroom?” Xiao Tang asked.
Hu Nianzhi suggested that she wait until after she had helped the elderly lady urinate before leaving. If that wasn’t feasible, they could always ask a nurse for assistance.
After Xiao Tang left, Hu Nianzhi gazed at his mother’s gaunt face. Over the years, her face had remained steadfast and calm; now, due to lying flat, the skin was taut under the effects of gravity. Despite a few age spots, there were hardly any wrinkles visible except for under her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. Her face didn’t quite resemble that of a Han Chinese person. When she was young, neighbors used to compliment her beauty, but Hu Nianzhi thought otherwise.
Her eye sockets were too deep, her nose too high, casting shadows on her face even in sunlight. According to TV shows and movies, people with shadowed faces weren’t good people. But later, he realized the immense beauty in such a face. Occasionally, his mother’s eyeballs would dart rapidly beneath her eyelids, then her entire face would settle into a deep calm. Exhausted from the journey, Hu Nianzhi lay down beside his mother’s bed and soon fell asleep.
The next day, Mother only had a bowl of millet porridge for breakfast. After breakfast, Hu Nianzhi wanted to talk to her about fixing her right foot, but Mother started waving her hand before he could speak. She said:
“Nianzhi, I want to discuss something with you.”
“Go ahead.”
“I want to go home.”
“No, you can’t. The doctor said it’s very dangerous if your foot isn’t immobilized, and without intravenous fluids, it’s impossible. You’re weak, and they’ve added nutrients to the drip.”
“You think your mother hasn’t faced danger before. I’ve even risked my life.”
She was referring to when she was three years old when her grandmother shielded her from a Japanese wolfhound with her own life. She was also talking about the year she was forty-nine when she coughed up blood, and after going to the county hospital, they said it was late-stage tuberculosis. It was just after November, and the doctor advised against treatment, saying she should go home and spend time with her family as each day passed.
That was an unprecedented time of despair for the Hu family. Ma Siyi could handle it, but Hu Wenyu couldn’t bear it anymore, her eyes swollen from crying while carrying two children on her back. He didn’t believe this diagnosis. He borrowed money from friends and took Ma Siyi to a prestigious military hospital in Beijing for a reexamination.
Hu Wenyu insisted on rechecking any doubts raised. After consolidating all the data and consulting with multiple experts, the conclusion was neither good nor bad: it probably wasn’t late-stage tuberculosis, but they couldn’t determine the exact illness, so targeted medication couldn’t be given rashly either; they recommended returning home for routine treatment and seeking medical attention in case of crisis. This time, over thirty years had passed, and she felt that every day since she was forty-nine was a bonus. She wasn’t afraid of death.
Hu Nianzhi disagreed. When he returned from the bathroom, it was no longer a question of whether Mother was afraid of death. She had already unplugged the intravenous drip and insisted on going home right away. Xiao Tang couldn’t stop her no matter what. Hu Nianzhi asked his mother to wait for a moment while he made a phone call to his sister. Hu Jing was currently gathering the mid-level and above staff for a meeting at the company. She immediately suspended the meeting and had the driver sent over. She was worried that she might make a mistake while driving due to being upset, and her hands trembling. When she entered the hospital room, she shouted at her mother:
“Mom, can you stop acting recklessly?”
The old lady sat on the hospital bed, blinking slowly, reciting her lines steadily as if from memory: “Isn’t it my choice whether I want to live or not?”
This eerie response left her daughter, who was the CEO, speechless, and her son, who was an archaeologist, confused. But they believed it was just a rhetorical flourish to lighten the mood because when their mother said those words, she almost smiled.
“What exactly do you want?”
“To go home,” the old lady said. “You don’t know how exhausting it is to live. I don’t want to be tied to this bed anymore.”
At seventy-nine, she had her left femur replaced and spent several months in bed, starting to walk again like a child, holding onto walls and using a cane. At eighty-one, she had her right femur replaced and spent another few months in bed, once again starting to walk like a child, using a cane and holding onto walls. She had finally matured herself through the practice of walking, only to fall again. The thought of having to stay in bed again, starting all over, suddenly made her feel weary. Life was so long, and she had had enough of it, feeling tired of it all. From forty-nine to today, she had gained so much, even she was tired of it.
“But Mom, injuries need treatment.”
“Not all injuries need treatment,” Mother’s thoughts remained clear. “Not everyone’s injuries need treatment.”
After three hundred rounds, the old lady prevailed. The siblings and Xiao Tang escorted the old lady back home.
“I’ll just lie down,” Mother half-lay on the bed, with a blanket propped under her lower back. The siblings bought a hospital-style adjustable bed, but the old lady preferred her own traditional wooden bed. “You all have your own business to attend to, and there’s Xiao Tang here.”
Hu Jing returned to the company. Hu Nianzhi spent another day with his mother, called his wife and children, asking them to come over whenever they had time to keep his mother company. After making arrangements, he changed into clean clothes and returned to Jining.
The Ru porcelain expert from Ruzhou was waiting for Hu Nianzhi in Jining, and the old gentleman came in person. He said that looking at things on a computer screen wasn’t reliable, porcelain was a craft, and the hands-on experience was crucial. As he talked about hands-on experience, he extended his hands, and Hu Nianzhi saw the ingrained clay and glaze stains in the old man’s aged hands. These were the hands of a craftsman. The old gentleman had the face of both a craftsman and a farmer, spending years at the kiln site, traveling in the wilderness and construction sites searching for ancient kiln sites. Rain or shine, wind, and dust, he mingled among a group of old farmers, making it difficult to distinguish him.
“If it’s authentic, it must be significant,” the old gentleman spoke with a thick Henan accent. “I can’t rest easy without seeing and touching it myself.”
The old gentleman hoped to carefully study the tiny notch at the bottom of the original piece, where the cross-section revealed details of the body and glazing. Secrets were most easily exposed from within. He had specially brought all the Ru porcelain data he had collected that matched the powder blue three-foot washing glaze in terms of color, shape, ornamentation, manufacturing techniques, and possibly age, to compare them one by one. He also contacted other expert friends, and if the visual inspection still couldn’t be concluded, he planned to have the National Museum conduct relevant scientific instrument analysis, such as neutron activation analysis, Mössbauer analysis, and accelerator mass spectrometry. The old gentleman came prepared.
After a day and a half of research and discussion, with consultations and references from experts at the National Museum, Shanghai Museum, and Zhengzhou University, the three experts produced a reliable identification report. The six-page report was meticulously detailed and filled with a solemn scientific spirit. The complex academic vocabulary and expressions might deter laypeople, so all we need to know is the conclusion: the three-foot washing is not a Northern Song Ru kiln porcelain but a Ru porcelain imitated and fired during the Ming Dynasty’s Chenghua period. The inscriptions also don’t match those from the Qianlong period; someone was forging.
After reaching a consensus among the three experts, the archaeology team signed off and forwarded the findings to the relevant department. Hu Nianzhi and his old classmate accompanied the leader of the archaeology team to bid farewell to the old gentleman who researched Ru porcelain.
In the evening, Hu Nianzhi tried calling his mother, but there was no answer on the landline. He then called Xiao Tang’s mobile, but it rang twice before being hung up. Five minutes later, Xiao Tang called back. She had been feeding the old lady just now, taking advantage of her good mood to feed her a few more spoons. To avoid disturbing the old lady’s rest, they had unplugged the landline. It was also at the old lady’s request that any calls should go to Xiao Tang, who would only report that everything was fine. But this time, Xiao Tang said something was wrong.
“Hu laoshi, it’s really bad,” Xiao Tang’s voice broke as she cried. “Grandma was eating some rice grains the day before yesterday, but now she hardly wants to eat anything solid, just-drinks rice soup. Just now, she suddenly wanted to eat, but only managed to have two spoonfuls of rice.”
“How’s her mental state?”
“She’s awake for no more than an hour and a half a day. It seems like even opening her eyes takes a lot of effort.”
Hu Nianzhi called his doctor friend, who remained silent for ten seconds before responding, “If the situation can’t be reversed, do what needs to be done as soon as possible.”
“What do you mean?”
“A week,” his friend sighed heavily, “might be stretching it.”
Hu Nianzhi’s hair stood on end. It was too sudden, and a chill ran down his spine. He hesitated whether to ask for leave from the archaeology team tomorrow or the day after. He felt embarrassed about letting personal matters affect his work.
The next day, halfway through lunch, Xiao Tang called. The old lady wanted him and his sister to come back.
“Did she have something to say?” He recalled his doctor friend’s assessment.
“She didn’t say. She just said to talk to you and your sister.”
It must have been the exact words of his mother. Xiao Tang was too young; she probably couldn’t grasp the weight of the phrase “talk to them.” His mother wanted to bid them farewell. Hu Nianzhi set down his lunch box and immediately went to ask for leave from the team leader. It could be for a day or two at least, or he couldn’t say for sure. The team leader and his old classmate shook his hand goodbye, their comforting expressions conveying condolences. Hu Nianzhi briefly expressed his speculation and ideas about the river and the sunken ship to them. He was worried that delaying at home would affect the progress of the archaeological work.
He deduced that the sunken ship was in a tributary. The exact navigational capabilities remained uncertain, awaiting more compelling evidence along the existing riverbank. However, this presented a considerable challenge. He observed that apart from this stretch of land, the entire line was densely populated with buildings and residential areas, making the cost of investigation prohibitively high. Of course, it was also possible that the river was a natural formation or a temporary drainage project for flood prevention at the time.
As for the sunken ship, he found many suspicious points. Its identity was dubious. As the excavation project neared its end, there was still no evidence indicating the origin of the sunken ship, except for the inscription “Jiaqing twelfth year” on the town ruler, a relatively rare finding in inland river archaeology. Could it be inferred that relevant evidence had been urgently cleared during the sinking of the ship? Such a ship, of this caliber and equipment, wasn’t something just anyone could possess at the time.
The most important piece, the powder blue three-foot washing with a forged Qianlong inscription—what could be the motive? The probability of a shipwreck incident in the section of the canal in Jining, as documented in historical records, was extremely low. Even if it had occurred, both historical records and archaeological findings were mostly in the true sense of the canal or its former course, making such a distance an unprecedented occurrence. Could the ship hold some unspeakable secrets? Did it encounter similarly unspeakable mishaps on its journey here?
The team leader and his old classmate assured him that return to Beijing with peace of mind. Everything was changing, and they would fully consider his opinions in the upcoming excavation and argumentation. They wished the elderly a speedy recovery!
Returning to Zhangjiawan late in the evening, his mother was already asleep. Xiao Tang wanted to wake her, but the old lady shook her head wearily. For dinner, his mother only had a few sips of rice soup, and even if a grain of rice entered her mouth, she would spit it out. Hu Jing was also pacing and roaring in her room next door. The only person in the world who could make the usually composed beauty, Hu Jing, lose her temper was Ma Siyi, now renamed Ma Siyi. She said to her brother:
“Is it harder to have a cast on your foot than to die?”
“For our mom, it’s at least as hard as being alive.”
“You’re her son,” Hu Jing’s words and tone naturally had an edge, “and you’re just okay with letting Mom die?”
“What we think doesn’t matter, it’s what Mom wants. She’s made up her mind long ago. She’s peacefully fasting.”
Hu Jing also yelled, then sat down heavily on the chair in front of the desk.
His sister took the first half of the night shift, and he took the second. Xiao Tang took care of the early morning hours.
For breakfast, Mother only had a few sips of rice soup. She refused to have anything else—no milk, soy milk, or any kind of nutritional supplements. Hu Nianzhi had eaten half a steamed bun, then dozed off under the grape arbor in the yard, only to be awakened by Xiao Tang. His mother called for him. Hu Nianzhi lost one of his slippers and hobbled to his mother’s bedside with his left foot bare. Hu Jing was already sitting beside the bed.
Mother’s eyes opened, emitting a peculiar gleam. Due to her further weight loss, her eyes appeared larger than before, giving her an appearance of wonderment towards the world. But in reality, she had grown weary long ago. After a long silence, her throat dry and hoarse, Hu Nianzhi fed her a few sips of plain water. Mother stared at the ceiling as if there was a book on the roof. She slowly spoke to her siblings, pausing for half a breath between each word:
“I dreamt of your great-grandfather again. I’ve never been able to remember what he looked like. He died when I was only three years old. Just now, I saw him. Jingye, you resemble your great-grandfather. Nianzhi, your features don’t resemble him, but you have his spirit. You even resemble your great-grandfather more than Jingye does.”
It took her about three minutes to say this, her strength unable to keep up, but each word landed like a meteor from the sky. At least to Hu Jingye, it felt like her brain was being pounded by the impact. Mother was implying that Nianzhi’s appearance and spirit were inherited from their great-grandfather. Was Mother trying to clarify a certain truth to them before drawing her final breath? Suddenly, Hu Jingye felt overwhelmed with sorrow.
“Mom, please don’t say anymore, I understand. I’m sorry,” Hu Jingye grabbed her mother’s hand, tears streaming down her face. “I’ll find the best doctors to treat you. Nianzhi and I will make you better.”
“It’s too late. I’m fine like this. Let me pass away peacefully,” Mother tilted her head slightly, turning her face towards them, and spoke intermittently, “Your great-grandfather is calling for me. Your father is waiting too. He has always been patient with me throughout my life.” Mother paused to catch her breath, “Even at the end, I’m causing trouble for you.”
Mother was referring to her continuous urination and defecation when her consciousness wasn’t entirely clear. She felt embarrassed. She knew it was common before death. In some places, it’s referred to as “clearing the bowels,” naturally emptying the stomach and intestines. The stool becomes sparse and white, and urine emits a strange sour odor. To die with a bit more dignity, she decided to stop drinking even the rice soup.
Ma Siyi just turned eighty-four and did the same. She did it when she was awake, and she continued when her consciousness was unclear. She only accepted plain water, a couple of spoonfuls at a time, four or five times a day. Later, she refused even the water. When the spoon reached her mouth, she refused to open it. It wasn’t a conscious refusal but a bodily rejection, her body taking over her consciousness — she had more important things to do: hasten towards death. All earthly matters had been settled. There were no property disputes; she left only the courtyard and a Yangliuqing woodblock print called “Dragon King Brings Rain.” Her daughters had no interest in the courtyard, and even less in the woodblock print, so she gave them all to her brother. She could die in peace.
After that, Ma Siyi never spoke again and rarely opened her eyes. She dreamt of the past, or rather, she saw the past — the long family history before her birth.
It started in a city called Verona in Italy, then a town called Fengqiandian by the Hai River in Tianjin; she saw her young and handsome grandfather before he became crippled, and her grandmother, beautiful and faithful, as a young maiden, she heard them calling each other’s names; she saw her father, mother, elder brother, and second brother, their short lives and long deaths; she saw the kindness her husband, Hu Wenyu, showed her over the years, waiting for her alongside her grandfather, Ma Fude; she also saw the hydraulic engineer who liked the noodles she made, but now he was just a figure in a neatly-pressed short-sleeved shirt; she even saw a great river, gleaming like gold and silver in the sunlight, boats shuttling back and forth, its waters flowing endlessly towards the sky.
Ma Siyi took a deep breath, the light of the heavens and earth surrounding her.
Guarding her mother, Hu Nianzhi and his sister witnessed the entire process of their mother’s passing. Death never arrives hastily; it inches closer, slowly ushering life out of the body it has chosen.
Their mother’s life lingered for three days. Hu Jing also set aside all affairs at the company, focusing solely on her mother. The siblings positioned a makeshift cot opposite their mother’s bed, taking turns resting while the other sat vigil, ensuring they always had watchful eyes on their mother’s every move. Yet, in truth, their mother made no significant movements. Even in the brutality of death, she merely twitched a leg, moved an arm, and shifted her head. At first, her legs could still move, flex, and curl; then her arms, soon shedding the thin blanket covering her, her warmth signaling the fire burning within the dying. Finally, her head, its movements signifying life’s retreat, until it ceased entirely with the last strand of hair relinquished to death’s grasp. Ma Siyi was gone.
The siblings periodically touched their mother’s body. From her feet, the chill ascended: toes, ankles, calves, knees, thighs, hips, abdomen, waist, fingers, wrists, forearms, upper arms, chest—chilled until the heart ceased.
As dawn broke, a rooster crowed in Zhangjiawan. The siblings watched as their mother’s neck stiffened, mouth gaping, exhaling twice before her head fell back onto the pillow. Their mother had passed away.
Hu Jing and Hu Nianzhi unleashed their grief. Their cries roused other family members in adjacent rooms, Hu Jing’s husband and daughter, Hu Nianzhi’s wife and son, and Little Tang, resting in another room. Within half a minute, they flooded into the room, their wails blending with the dawn rising over Zhangjiawan.
Hu Jing placed a traditional coin on each of their mother’s eyelids. Hu Nianzhi knelt beside the bed, his heart-wrenching with pain: watching his mother inch closer to death while feeling utterly powerless, he felt complicit in death’s conspiracy.
Their mother was laid to rest in a cemetery by the canal, and Hu Nianzhi, his arm adorned with a black veil, returned to Jining.
The excavation work in Jining had concluded, leaving only the tasks of tidying up and summarizing. Hu Nianzhi, as a specially appointed expert, could easily provide opinions and conclusions remotely without the need to be present on-site. He held filial piety in high regard, both emotionally and rationally, so there was no issue in doing so.
However, abandoning things halfway was not in Hu Nianzhi’s nature. Although this excavation ultimately lacked any groundbreaking discoveries to fill in the gaps, it still shed new light on recent years’ canal archaeology. Firstly, it left behind a mystery regarding an unfamiliar waterway. Secondly, the timing of this archaeological excavation was significant, coinciding with the eve of China’s Grand Canal’s bid for UNESCO World Cultural Heritage status.
It was better to be early than late, akin to warming up for the bid, rallying, and cheering. Thus, the relevant authorities instructed the archaeological team to provide a morale-boosting summary and publicity. It would be better if Hu Nianzhi returned, as many tasks would inevitably require his involvement.
After the artifacts were sorted and the archives prepared, they were sent to the museum. The mysteries unearthed during the excavation ultimately remained unresolved, with the report largely based on Hu Nianzhi’s conjectures.
With the dust settled Hu Nianzhi’s mind still lingered on the river. He often walked along the extension of the excavation site, hoping to find some clue about the course of the waterway. One evening, he encountered a local antique seller by the roadside. The man mentioned a small Qingbai-glazed Luohan figurine, about fifteen to sixteen centimeters tall, likely from the late Qing Dynasty or early Republic of China period, unearthed while constructing his own house. It wasn’t particularly valuable. As they discussed recent archaeological excavations, the locals mentioned how many people were digging blindly, earning quite a bit of money in the process.
“Who do you sell them to?” Hu Nianzhi asked.
“To antique dealers, they travel around the villages to buy. And there’s one inn that buys them too.”
“Inns buy antiques too?”
“Just one in does, about several tens of kilometers away. They offer fair prices. I sold them a pottery jar once, with a strange bird painted on it. It was dug up from our ancestors’ tomb a few years ago.”
The pottery jar with the bird painting piqued Hu Nianzhi’s interest. He decided to find some time to visit the “Little Museum” inn, hoping for an unexpected find. As the night fell and he walked back, he instinctively took out his phone and dialed a number. After a single ring, a standard Mandarin voice echoed from his phone:
“Hello, the number you have dialed is currently unavailable.”
Hu Nianzhi was startled to realize that he had dialed his mother’s number. What shocked him even more was that he hadn’t requested to deactivate the number after his mother’s passing.